


War Asset Ficlets

by QuixoticRogue



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Space Pirates, Walk and Talk, war assets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuixoticRogue/pseuds/QuixoticRogue
Summary: A collection of short stories about some of the War Assets picked up by Commander Shepard and/or the effects they have on the galaxy.





	1. Book of Plenix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Book of Plenix declares that every volus must aid those in need during times of war. News of the book's recovery inspired many volus citizens to donate generous amounts of Citadel charities and defense funds."

She had come so close.

Corda Zaras sat dumbly at the table in her apartment, gazing longingly at the prime rib basking, ready to eat, on the plate in front of her. She was frozen, hoping that, if she didn't move or speak, whoever was at her door would leave.

Her bell rang again and she scowled. It could be her human next-door neighbour, Alex, always popping around when unwanted, or maybe even the Tower's super. She had been hearing something rattling in the pipes for a while now. With a great sigh, she stood, put her plate into her kitchen oven and went out into the hall. She opened the door and, for one beautiful moment, Corda thought whoever had rung had decided to give up and let her return to her meal in peace.

Then a wheeze cast her gaze, and hopes, downward.

"Do you have time for me to talk to you about Plenix?"

Shit.

Corda very nearly shut the door in the volus's face. Kendra from work had warned her about this just earlier that day. Ever since some spirits-damned idiot had found and retrieved the Book of Plenix, volus had been visiting, door-to-door, spreading the 'good word'.

Corda turned back into the house, thinking of that rib she could be munching on at this moment. She turned back to the volus, an unhappy harmonic uttered.

"Look," she said, trying to think up a way to get rid of him. "I'm not sure if you're selling something or looking for a donation but I'm a bit... strapped for creds at the moment but my neighbour Alex might have some. You could try over there."

The volus wheezed, subtly unimpressed. Corda wasn't aware volus's puffs could be so nuanced. "The Earth-clan told me I should come here."

Bitch.

Corda sighed, itching for a way to get the volus to just _leave_. "Fine," she said. "I'll go looking for a spare credit chit."

"If it wouldn't bother you, may I wait inside?" the volus asked.

Corda let out quiet grumble of surrender. In for a penny, in for a pound. She didn't say anything but she opened the door wider as she left. "There's a couch in the room to the right," she called when she was passed through the door. Corda leaned against the hall's wall, out of sight now. She'd wait for a bit then she'd go out and tell the scrounger she couldn't find anything. She'd wait then go out and then he'd leave and she could go back to her dinner.

Minutes passed. Corda began worrying over her food, that juicy rib, having a feeling that it was going cold even in the oven. It would be fine, she told herself. The volus wouldn't be her problem much longer. Satisfied adequate time had passed, she stepped back into her living room. The volus was there, sat on the couch, his feet just coming over the ends of the cushions. Corda let out an exasperated sound.

"I'm really sorry," she said, ensuring to make the 'really' sound ever so remorseful. "I just couldn't find anything."

The volus nodded gently then scooted to the end of the couch and made the short jump back to the ground. He waddled over to the entrance, Corda following his progress intently. He was just about to go, his hand was almost at the panel...

The tiny bastard turned around.

"You know," he puffed, "money is not the only thing one such as you can give. There are many of your clan housed in the docking bays in need of clothes and blankets. Perhaps you have some to give."

She'd said she had no money. She couldn't magically discover some in her bank account, give it to him and shove him out the door. What was it that her neighbour, Alex, had once said? We sleep in the bed of our own making? Corda sighed and went to her linen press, certain that the volus was smirking at her behind that mask.

\---

The sneaky, conniving, volus asshat had somehow managed to talk her into carrying the blankets out the door. Then to the lift. And Corda was certain, once the doors opened, she would end up walking them to the docking bay.

The lift was moving at a speed she felt was in no way fast enough. She looked down over the modest pile of sheets at the empty-handed volus, looking ever so smug despite his pressure suit.

Well, if they _were_ going to be stuck in this lift for the time...

Corda cleared her throat. "So, uh," she began, "you never really told me about Plenix."

The volus nodded, seeming only to happy to talk about his patron saint or whatever. "Plenix was a teacher of sorts back on the Vol-clan homeworld of Irune three thousand years ago. He taught of charity and forgiveness. In troubled times such as these, Vol-clan are compelled to give to those in need."

The volus wheezed, cleared his throat and began to recite: "'When one possesses what one's neighbour does not, one must break apart one's possession and keep a part to oneself and give the rest to that in need.'"

All the words rattled in Corda's head but one particular detail stuck out. "Three thousand years ago?" she questioned. "That's before the volus joined Citadel space, isn't it? So, Plenix's Book really only applies to volus?"

The volus wheezed in thought beside her. "Perhaps," he said. "But when the Reapers reach the Citadel, as they are most sure to do, will it matter what clan you are a part of?

Corda nodded in vague agreement. "I suppose not."

The lift's doors opened to a short walkway and a scanner gate. The security checkpoint sifted through Corda's blankets. The C-Sec officer making the check offered to take them off Corda, saying, "I'll see these get to someone."

The volus stopped him. "It's okay, Officer," he said. "I want her to see for herself."

"Alright, sir. Waving you through."

Corda wasn't paying much attention to them. A stretcher with a human lying limp on top of it rolled past her towards the lift. He smelt of something rotten like her fruit bowl sometimes when she'd come back from holidays having forgotten to switch on her housekeeping VI. A much smaller human, a child she supposed, ran after the body, wet streaks down her pale face.

She was so transfixed by the scene, she barely noticed the batarian lugging a crate until he'd shoved past her. Caught in his movement, she followed him into the large bay and felt her knees nearly give.

To her right, shipping containers were stacked upon each other, forming three-storey slums. People filled the cots and the cots filled the crates until no room was left in either and everything then spilled out into the rest of the bay, leaving more frames than floor. Men, women of all different races and their families, their children, huddled where they could.

And to her left, a wall, or what probably was one. Whatever it was was now obscured by a thousand faces, all smiling. The one's that were loved, and lost. Corda found herself walking towards it, each step carrying more weight than the last, and she stood at the foot of the memorial, feeling the intense need to look each of them in the eye just once before she left.

\---

Some time later - maybe an hour, maybe more - Corda felt a tug on her sleeve. She looked down and found the small, pale, human girl from before at her side. She carried a small frame, a cheap, digital thing. It was the sort one could buy from gift shops in museums and hospitals. She offered it up to Corda, her eyes kept to the floor.

"I can't put Daddy on the wall," she whispered. "Not tall enough."

Corda looked at her for a moment, then she moved to pick it up, finding her hands filled with the sheets. She knelt in front of the little girl, taking one of the blankets and wrapping it around her small shoulders. She then tucked the rest of them to her chest, leaving a hand free. With it, Corda gently took the frame from much smaller fingers.

"Daddy's going on the wall?" The girls nodded. "Where would you like him to be?"

The child just pointed up. "The very top. Close to Jesus."

Corda scanned the highest point of the wall. It was the part with the most space though a few pictures were hung there.

"Which one is Jesus?" Corda asked.

The little girl giggled. It was a sniffly sound but it was certainly a giggle. "They all are. They all have Him inside them."

Slightly confused, Corda asked, "So, you'd like your father at the very top."

The child nodded.

It took a fair bit of work, stacking many crates on one another. She handed the child the other blankets and began climbing cautiously. With some effort, Corda managed to get in reach of the bay's ceiling. There were a few patches of bare wall and Corda pressed the frame to one of them. The electromagnets in the back buzzed on as the frame attached itself to its spot. A photo of the man Corda had seen earlier appeared. He was holding the little girl up to the camera with his other arm around a human female Corda didn't recognise. They were all smiling.

She made her way back down and over to the human child. The little girl lay the folded blankets on the ground and wrapped her arms in a hug around her leg, not seeming to mind her spurs. When the girl let go, she picked up the blankets and passed them back up to Corda. She pointed to them.

"Are you staying here now?" she asked, not a small amount of hope in her voice.

"Uh, no," replied Corda. "I'm just giving these to the refugees."

"Oh." Disappointment was etched on her face. Then a cheery, but teary smile, appeared. "My Dad knows a saying about charity. 'Whoever has the world's goods, and sees his brother in need and does nothing...'" She trailed off. "I don't remember the rest but I don't think they ended up happy."

Corda spent more time with the little girl, playing a few games. Then, leaving, she adjusted the blanket around the girl's shoulders one more time before handing the rest over back at the security checkpoint. She didn't see the volus again and when she got back to her apartment, she returned to a meal that, though had remained in the oven, was cold to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the Jesus thing was a bit heavy-handed. I'm not actually religious, I just felt that was the way it should go.


	2. Shadow Broker Support Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Shadow Broker's strength lies in her connections. Dr. Liara T'Soni has a team of operatives able to procure almost any supplies at any time, by using an extensive network of bribes, blackmail and favours. This logistical support had become important to building the Crucible, as the disruption of communications and travel makes gathering resources risky at the best of times."

Director Viniks exited his office at the north end of the base, a small spring in his brisk step. All reports were ready to be filed: the shortlist for the new hanar ambassador would hold many candidates sympathetic to the Alliance, four lines of tabloids releasing fearmongering articles would find their issues filled with morale-boosting stories of asari commandos and justicars come print and an STG operative's freedom from pirates had been negotiated with a not unsubstantial amount of background-digging.

Now, if he could just get to the base's Quantum Entanglement Communicator on the far side of the former mining facility and give his evening account to the Shadow Broker without anything going wro-

"Director? Director!"

Well, he guessed he _did_ set himself up for that.

With a sigh, the salarian turned to find himself looking at a wide-eyed maiden carrying a datapad. "Yes, Hela. What is it?"

"The element zero shipment to be sent from Lusia to that Alliance project-"

"You can say 'Crucible'. There's no one on this base who hasn't already found out."

"-To the Crucible has been stopped."

"What? Why?"

"They're being denied clearance from Monoi's main spaceport," answered the young asari, somewhat nervously. Hela Pachis was the team's associate analyst and a fast learner. Viniks was sure if you gave her a year she could cultivate masses of contacts and vaults of valuable information. She'd, however, only been given a month of training and was working way out of her depth.

"On what grounds?"

"They're wanting to claim the resources for the local war effort," replied Hela.

"Matriarch Lota is the customs officer, yes?" asked Viniks.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay then." He waved her along and began moving back through the corridor. "Walk with me."

The Shadow Broker base was fashioned out of one of the many salarian mining facilities left abandoned on Hagalaz. Many of the original rooms had sustained incredible damage through neglect over the years but the massive warehouse intended to store the recovered platinum from the planet's poles was left largely untouched. The enormous space was divided into rooms by basic walls but no one had bothered putting in a ceiling lower than the one fifteen metres above them. As such, the interior of the Shadow Broker facility had the appearance of a normal building as long as one's gaze didn't shift a few degrees upward.

The corridor they walked down took them into the research bay, a wide room filled with dozens of terminals manned by all sorts. It was the place where scores of analysts would work through the day, listening in to bugs and viewing through drones positioned all across the galaxy. Director Viniks scanned all the faces, spotting the turian he needed.

"Rykus! Get over here."

The turian hopped from his seat, shifting around various people to join the pair as they continued to move through. "What is it you need, boss?"

"Pachis's eezo shipment has been denied clearance," Viniks explained.

"Matriarch Lota's the customs officer?" asked Rykus.

"That's correct."

"I'm guessing you have a plan, boss."

Viniks hated that nickname, he always had and he was sure Rykus knew it. He let it slide though with him because Chief Analyst was a position he had earned and not easily.

"The Matriarch will listen to former Governor Shiralta," he said.

Rykus nodded in recognition. "You're saying that, if we make Shiralta convince her-"

"-We can get the eezo shipment clearance," finished an excited Hela.

"Exactly."

The turian nodded again. "Yeah, there's a problem with that, boss."

"What?"

"We were the ones who made her the _former_ governor."

He was working too many hours; he should have remembered that. The Shadow Broker would not be in the asari matriarch's good-books.

"Shit," Viniks muttered. "Who's in power now?"

"Matriarch Nya," answered Hela.

"Isn't she the one who has weekly elcor orgies?"

Finally, some good news. "Great," said Viniks. "Send her the footage-"

"It's a _lot_ of footage."

"Send her the footage and tell her to stand down and announce that Shiralta will be taking her position."

"Again," commented Rykus.

"Again."

Hela piped up then. "Won't it look a little strange, sir; the Matriarch standing down after only a month in office?"

"You're right. Create a relative, maybe a niece, who died on the front lines."

"All asari have nieces dying, boss."

"I don't have any nieces dying."

"You don't _have_ nieces, Hel, you're an only child."

"Better make it an entire side of the family," cut in the Director. "Send Nya the dossiers and the sob story with the blackmail package. She's done some good work for us, let's make this easy for her."

Rykus nodded as he broke off. "On it, boss."

Hela slowed her pace to let the turian pass then jogged back up beside the Director. "Excuse me, sir," she said. "What about the footage of Shiralta urinating on the coffin at her ex-bondmate's wake?"

The material used to oust the Matriarch. Viniks shrugged. "Have it debunked it as fake."

"We had experts authenticate it."

"Our experts?"

"Yes."

"Have them denounced." He paused, stopping their journey midway through the recreation hall, considering things for a moment. "Which experts did we use?"

"Bartford and Illius," answered Hela.

They began moving again. "Illyus?" questioned the salarian. "I thought that one was a private collector."

"That's Illyus with a 'Y', sir. Illius with an 'I' is the professor at the University of Serrice."

Viniks made an exasperated sigh. "Why did we make up two different people with the same name?"

"Clerical error, sir."

"There are millions of different cultures each with hundreds of lovely, distinct names. Is it so hard to randomly pick two lovely, _distinct_ names?"

"It won't happen again, sir."

"Good." He paused as they began to climb up a set of stairs. "So, it was Illyus with a 'Y'?"

"'I', sir. And Bartford."

"That's a pity. Those were good aliases." Then: "Ruin them."

Hela opened her omni-tool, making a note of something. Behind him, he heard hurried clambering of footsteps up the stairwell. He braced for the shout that was coming next.

"Director Viniks?"

There we go.

A young human male jogged up to them. Immediately Viniks spotted Hela avert her eyes and tap at her omni-tool open to a document the Director could clearly see was blank. A small smile played her lips. Subtlety was certainly not the asari's strong suit.

Viniks waited for Rykus's Deputy to catch his breath. He was waiting until they had walked through a total of three more rooms. Analysts tended not to get much exercise, sat at their stations for most of each day. We should probably set up a gym, considered Viniks. Finally, the human's breathing slowed enough for him to speak.

"Sir. I'm unable to reach Matriarch Nya."

Shit. "Walk me through the problem, Trevor," prompted Viniks.

"I've tried her hideout on the southern continent, her mistress's apartment in Monoi and I even managed to get access to her QEC in the apocalypse bunker she recently built at the northern pole. There's no sign."

"Have you tried her home address?"

The next few steps were taken in silence.

"I'll get right on that, Director," said the hurriedly retreating form of DCA Trevor O'Connor.

Viniks really had no idea what Pachis saw in him.

They entered the communications hub, Hela having stopped her pretend-work beside him. Here was where brokers 'worked the phones', making contact with agents, informants and third-parties with something the Shadow Broker needed. They were three quarters of the way there, on the home stretch. Viniks could just see the spiral stairs leading to the isolated QEC room just ahead.

"Sir, Matriarch Shiralta isn't co-operating," came a voice beside Viniks. A tall, female human had joined them, matching the Director's pace easily. Viniks glanced at his Chief Broker.

"Skye? What do you mean she isn't co-operating?"

"She's saying she won't deal with us," replied Chief Burnes.

"I don't understand," said an exasperated Pachis on the opposite side of the Director. "We're letting her be governor."

"Again."

"Again!"

Skye nodded. "I told her that."

Viniks looked at her expectantly. "And..."

"And she asked how long would it be before there's a video on the extranet of her shitting in a corpse's mouth."

"Is there a video of her-"

"No, I checked."

"Alright then," said Viniks. "We need to sweeten the pot somehow. Does she still like that batarian shard wine?"

Skye raised an eyebrow. "There's not going to be much of that being made nowadays."

"There's a batarian warlord from Lorek who always kept a massive stash with him," considered Viniks. "Offer the Matriarch that."

They were passing through the facility's dining hall now, colleagues ducking and weaving around them with their trays of gruel that, after a long day of work, actually managed to smell delicious. Viniks and Hela navigated their way through easily but Viniks noticed the Chief stumbling and nearly tripping over several chairs.

"Skye, when did you last sleep?"

"When does the kitchen make spaghetti?" was his only response.

"Every fourth day," Hela answered, helpfully.

"Two spaghetti nights ago."

They reached the short staircase leading to the base's QEC. Viniks moved to head up it.

"Wait, sir," called Skye. "How do I convince the batarian to give up his cellar?"

Viniks shrugged. "Say please."

Skye looked taken aback, surprise at an easy trade scrawled messily over her tired face. "That'll work?" she asked. "He's that much of a pushover?"

"No, but invasion and mass genocide has made him quite generous." The salarian grimaced. "You have to hand it to the Reapers, bringing out the best from the scum of the galaxy."

The Chief nodded. "Alright, sir." She turned to go.

"Wait, Skye," Viniks called. "In this order, sort this out, get something to eat in the mess, then go get some sleep."

She smiled weakly up at him. "Yes, sir."

She headed off and Viniks went to go up the stairs again when a blue throat was cleared meekly. He looked back down at the asari.

"Thank you, sir, for helping," she said.

He nodded to her. "It's no trouble, Pachis. Next time send the shipment through Cetiera; they make fewer cargo checks."

He climbed the steps and entered the closet of a room, closing the window's blinds. He punched in his authorisation code for the communicator, the signal being sent off. He stood, waiting a couple of minutes for the connection to be accepted on the other end before turning back, gazing out the window.

He looked down over it all; everything from the research bay where Rykus was hitting Trevor over the head with a datapad for his mistake, with Hela casting ridiculous, furtive glances from her work bench at him, all the way to the dining hall where Burnes had fallen asleep at one of the tables, a junior analyst putting their jacket around her shoulders. They were an odd bunch and they'd screw up often but they were his team and no one but maybe the Shadow Broker himself could do their jobs better. And there was nobody else he'd want to.

The comms beeped behind him, his call being answered. A warped, androgynous voice came over the speakers. "Director Viniks. Are you reporting in?"

The salarian about-faced and stood to attention, even though it wasn't a vidcall. "Yes, sir. The hanar short list is loaded with human sympathisers, those Citadel publications will be displaying stories of heroism tomorrow and the STG operative will be home with his data within hours. Oh, and the eezo shipment from Lusia should arrive as scheduled."

"Very good," said the voice. "Were there any problems?"

And, with a smile, Viniks replied, "None, sir."


	3. Armali Sniper Unit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Armali Sniper Unit is an elite team of asari commandos who favour long-distance engagement. Some of the unit's soldiers have augmented themselves with strength-boosting cybernetic implants, allowing them to fire heavier guns, like the 39-kilogram M-98 Widow antimaterial rifle, with incredible precision."

Shana T'Lira watched, with no small amount of joy, as her bullet blew the lone husk's skull apart.

Smiling as the now-headless body slumped to the ground, she took cover back behind the large rock on her cliff-side outcropping. She picked up a pebble and etched a notch into the boulder beside several dozen others. She opened her comms.

"That's another one for me."

"How many's that now, Shana?" came the voice of Aevan Tripohli, a half mile north of her.

"Aevan, you asked that just two minutes ago," came a second voice. Deana T'Goni.

"I forgot."

"I'm on one hundred and eight now," offered Shana.

She moved over to the lip of her ledge and peered down into the narrow chasm below her. It was part of a massive and labyrinthine network of valleys and tunnels in, around and through the largest mountain range on Menae; miles and miles of winding paths and twisting passages formed in-between sheer cliff faces. If you needed to get from Point A to Point B and Point B was on the arse-face of a mountain, these paths were how you'd get there.

The real prize, what made it land worth holding, was the gorge two klicks at their backs. It was a long and straight aisle that was perfect for the movement of foot soldiers and supply convoys between the eastern and western fronts. The turians currently possessed it and had set up a blockade but, other than the crates and barricades they had brought with them, there was no cover and no other escape, just a clear line of fire on them if they needed to retreat.

There were hundreds of passages and valleys that the enemy could use to reach the gorge but, invariably, they all led to one of four bottlenecks. An Armali sniper was positioned at each one. It was their job to offer forewarning and be the first line of defence in keeping the blockade from being overrun.

The fourth sniper came onto the comms then. "One hundred and eight is nothing," she scoffed.

Shana rolled her eyes as she crawled back from the ledge. "What are you on then, Kara?"

"One hundred and ninety-seven," answered the asari in that perfect mix of arrogance and faux-humility that only Kara Desiris possessed.

"How'd you get one hundred and ninety-seven?"

There was a pause of dead air for a second, then Kara came back on the radio. "One hundred and ninety-eight."

"How did you get one hundred and ninety-eight?"

"Three brutes, twenty-four marauders, twenty-eight cannibals, forty-two husks, eight ravagers and ninety-three swarmers. One hundred and ninety-eight."

Deana's voice came back on the line. "Wait, we're counting swarmers?"

"No, we're not counting swarmers," answered Shana.

"I've been counting swarmers."

"Aevan, aren't you only on thirty-nine?"

"It's a slow day."

"What is it without the swarmers?"

"A _very_ slow day."

"We are not counting swarmers," Shana said definitively. "Kara, bring that number down."

"Fine. One hundred and five."

Still beneath her score, but close. Surprisingly close. Usually, Reaper movements were inconsistent across the passes. Rarely were any two snipers within a dozen kills of each other on any given day and certainly not under five. It seemed that Kara was thinking something similar.

"That's a three-head gap, Shana," she said.

"That's right." Shana readied herself. The offer would come at any second now.

Kara didn't disappoint. "What do you say to a friendly wager? Relief's here in an hour. How about, whoever gets the most kills before then gets a month's salary."

It was time to bargain. Shana chuckled. "Only a month's salary? Didn't I hear you have an upcoming appointment with the Consort, Desiris?"

Silence on the other end of the line. "What's the matter, Kara?" Shana goaded. "Don't you think you can win?"

"A month's salary and the appointment from me," came her reply, "three months salary from you. Deal?"

"Standard rules apply?" Missed shots, minus a point. Multiple kills with the one bullet, double the heads.

"Standard rules apply. Deal?"

Shana smiled as she watched a cannibal wander into her line of sight. "Deal," she said and took the shot. One hundred and nine.

A half-hour later and Reaper traffic seemed to have slowed. Few were seen coming through the pass and never in any form of group. Shana had taken down a cannibal and a marauder while Kara had shot five husks. She still had a one-head lead but it was a narrow margin she did not like.

She sighed as she watched the empty passage some more. Her comms buzzed on. "So, what are you going to do with your winnings?"

"I don't know. I'll probably get some augments so I can finally use that rifle I got at Janiris," responded Kara.

"Oh," said Aevan quietly. "I was actually asking Shana."

The mentioned asari smirked as she imagined Kara's indignant rage on the other end of the line. She was about to reply when a slight movement caught her eye at the bottom of the ravine, a pebble rolling into view. She readied her rifle.

"Fine," Kara was saying, a distant voice, something to acknowledge at a time that wasn't this moment. "What does the great T'Lira plan to spend my money on?"

"Hang on," Shana whispered.

"Oh, have you found something?" Aevan asked, excitedly. "Oops. I should probably be quiet. Sorry."

Shana drowned it all out as she peered through the scope. The marauder stepped into the open, over the messily strewn body of a husk. It didn't seem to pay any mind to being surrounded by the corpses of its brethren. Shana brought its head into her sights and drew her breath. The shot was lined up, the bullet was going to go straight through its left eye. She exhaled, readied her fingered on the trigger then-

Someone sneezed over the comms.

The bullet hit the rock wall behind and an inch above the marauder's head. It reacted, spinning around towards the opposite cliff face, searching for the shooter. It lifted its gun arm. Shana didn't give it a chance to let off a shot before she put a round roughly into its skull. The warped turian dropped to the ground.

"Damn it," she muttered. She hit her comms. "Kara, did you just sneeze?"

"Maybe."

"Right into the microphone?"

"I'd turned it on to tell you that you had this in the bag." There was a brief, deliberate pause. "Oh, dear. Did you miss?"

Shana scowled. "Yeah."

She could hear the smug satisfaction coming through the comms. "Well, you know what that means."

"Yeah, yeah. Lose a point." The kill still counted but, with the wasted bullet, Shana was just back to where she was. Still, at least she still had that lead of-

"One hundred and eleven," proudly announced Kara.

Shit.

She heard Deana chuckle, enjoying the drama from a couple miles away. "So, I get how you can split four month's salary but I'm not sure the Consort lets people share appointments."

"It's not a tie yet," came Kara's brisk reply.

But it looked like it would be. The minutes passed and none of them spotted anymore Reapers. At this point, she would even have welcomed a horde of non-counting swarmers just for something to do. Shana checked her omni-tool. There was only a few minutes left before their respective reliefs came. Shana was already thinking of dinner, resigned to the likely stalemate of the wager, when Aevan's desperate voice filled the comms.

"Shit! They're all coming through!"

"Aevan, what's happening?" Deana shouted.

"There're so many. They're rushing the pass!"

Aevan stopped talking and all that remained on the channel was the sound of rapid gunshots. Shana was already on her feet, running towards the ledge's tunnel. She was the closest to Aevan's position, she'd have to be the one to provide backup.

It all made sense now. The sudden reprieve, Tripohli's slow day. The Reapers had been amassing their forces for a massive strike. Aevan was holding back an army.

"Hang tight. I'm coming," she shouted, unsure and uncaring whether or not her comms were on. She sprinted through the branching network of shafts. Left, right, left again. Desperately charging to save her friend.

The gunshots had stopped now too, Aevan's communicator was off. The waves were filled only with the cries of the other snipers. Shana was nearly there, her breaths coming quickly. She could see the light of the entrance that led out into Tripohli's outpost. The last hundred paces were taken with a speed Shana hadn't known she'd possessed. She burst into open air.

There was quiet. No gunfire sounded anymore. Over the edge of the cliff were the bodies - probably hundreds of them - of brutes, marauders, cannibals, husks, ravagers and swarmers. And standing above it all, sniper rifle in hand and not a scratch on her face, was Aevan Tripohli. She breathed a moment, then turned to Shana.

"Does this mean I win?"


	4. Terminus Fleet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Terminus Fleet is an assortment of mercenary vessels and pirate ships bound together by little more than common geography and a fear of the Reapers. Despite this volatile mix, the Fleet seems to be functioning as one under the leadership of criminal warlord Aria T'Loak."

Captain Josiah Prentice climbed on top of the crate in the middle of the mess hall, stifling a grunt as he did. He couldn’t do much about his bones however and he caught a soft crack under the din of the crowd around him. He waited for the crew of _The Vindication_ to shut up before speaking.

“All right. I just got off vidcomm with Omega station,” he said. “We’re being drafted into a fleet being formed under someone named Jarral. So, we’re jumping back into the Sahrabarik System with no detours.”

One of his turian muscle – Raz or Tannus – shuffled at that. “What’s going on, Captain?”

“We’re going to be helping the Alliance fight the war,” answered Prentice. “We’re going to be the heroes of the Terminus Systems. When ships are being attacked by Reapers, we’re the ones who’ll jump in and help them out.”

The other turian in the hall piped up. ‘But what does that _mean_ , boss?”

The human beside him, Satish, rolled his eyes. “We protect people now, Tannus.”

“So, we’re bodyguards.”

“No, we don’t get paid.”

“We don’t get paid?”

“No.”

“I don’t think I want to be heroes.”

Prentice clapped his hands, bringing everyone’s eyes back to him. “Come on, everyone. Don’t do that. When Alliance marines go into battle, do they ask what they’ll get in return? No. They say ‘Huzzah’, or whatever it is, and charge in.”

“Does this mean we can’t raid ships anymore?” asked the first turian.

Prentice shrugged. “We can attack Reapers.”

“What loot do they have on them?”

“From what I’ve heard, nothing that won’t mind-control you.”

The turian sighed. “Sir, do we have to be a part of this fleet?”

“Yes we do, Raz.”

“It’s Tannus, sir.”

Prentice pointed over at the second turian. “I thought _he_ was Tannus.”

“I am, sir.”

“He is.”

“So, you’re Raz?”

“No, I’m Tannus as well.”

“Then who’s Raz?”

“No one’s Raz.”

“I swear, we had a Raz on crew.”

“We did. Someone airlocked him.”

“Who?”

“Tannus.”

“You airlocked him?”

“No, other Tannus.” Tannus 1.

“I’m calling you Raz from now on.” Prentice.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Raz – née Tannus 2.

“I always wanted to be an Alliance marine.” Satish.

Captain Prentice shook his head. “Okay, do you know what? I’m starting from the top.” He waved off the annoyed mumbles from the crew. “We’re joining the fleet back at Sahrabarik and, from there, we’ll be patrolling the outer systems. We’re not going to be raiding civilians. We’re not going to be getting paid. We’re going to Omega, we’re going to save people and we’re going to be heroes.”

The scattered and quiet cheers were drowned out easily by the crackle of the tannoy as the voice of the pilot came on. “Captain, I’m picking up debris on the scanners. It looks like the wreckage of a cargo transport.”

Prentice looked over the crowd of expectant eyes and sighed. “Okay, we’re going to be heroes _after_ we loot this ship.”

“Huzzah!”


End file.
